The Breakdown
by Sonamyluver718
Summary: The mind is a scary place to be...


**First off: THIS IS NOT A STORY. This is a 5 page monologue I wrote for English class that I wanted to publish because I'm surprisingly kind of proud of it. It's based off of stream of consciousness which means that our minds don't think on a straight track so this all takes place inside her mind. Hope you enjoy! **

**The Breakdown **

I think I'm suffocating. I think I'm drowning. I think I've lost all of the oxygen in my lungs and now I'm literally suffocating. But what is suffocation in the first place? Not being able to breathe? Okay, then maybe I'm not suffocating. But then again, maybe I am. Is this crushing sensation of my brain seeming as if it's about to burst from thinking to hard or even trying to hard count as suffocating?

But of course, I always think too hard. I always try so hard – and to end up with what? Nothing! Always nothing! It's always more. More, more, more! "You need more girl scout badges," Mother used to say. So I tried my hardest to get more badges and oh over the simplest of things. I wanted a badge for selling the most cookies, for making the most bracelets, for tying the tightest knot, for useless skills. For nonsense! "Daddy would have expected more," she would say. "He wanted you to be the best you can be." If Daddy wanted me to be the best I could be then he wouldn't have left. He wouldn't have gotten on that plane. He wouldn't have had to leave me there with a runny nose and teary-eyes. He wouldn't have had to fly to Afghanistan. He wouldn't have went off to war without saying a proper goodbye, without a proper kiss on the cheek, without a proper memory to leave his daughter in case he never came back. But no. No, no, no. His weary eyes, those limp hands, the emotionless words, the absence of passion in the air. But maybe then there wouldn't have been that hollow knock on the door. Mother's famous chocolate chip cookie scent in the air, cartoons playing on the television, the warm spring sun beating down on my face. I was running around, playing with my dolls. A usual Saturday morning. But then that hollow knock came on the door. The hollow knock that knocked me out of my childhood bliss. The distant stranger dressed in camouflage that spoke gently of my father – my father who died in the name of our country. The day my little ten-year old heart broke into a bunch of tiny little pieces. The day that mother went mad.

But then again, maybe she was always crazy. Always a stickler for perfection, always looking for something that was worth more. I didn't come home with less than an A- on anything or else. "Or else what," I challenged. My mother's stern, distressed face only stared back at me. Then, before I knew it, I received a nice smack on my cheek. I got my answer. Not the smack, but the long list of chores that she threw at my face. Clean the dishes for a week, mow the lawn for a month, clean the whole house until it's spotless, drive yourself insane while you're at it!

My head is literally a balloon with too much air that is waiting to pop. To explode! To break! To give up! But of course that's not an option. Failure isn't an option. A silver medal isn't an option. 2nd place isn't an option. Not for a useless 3rd grade spelling bee. Not when I choked up on that stage with everyone watching, their eyes boring into my soul while the designated word flashed through my tiny mind. Not when I opened my mouth and met her cold, demanding, anxious eyes. Not when the buzzer rang that signaled I was out of time. Oh no! "That's a sign of weakness," she yelled. "Never let them see you weak! Weakness is a disadvantage! You are not weak! I have not raised you to be a weakling!" Don't be sick, gotta stay focused, can't be distracted. But why? Why?! What if a distraction is a good thing?

What about when I sat there watching her drink her misery away in alcohol? What about when I watched her tantrums and arguments to God screaming "Why? Why did he have to go?" What about now as she leaves home every day with bruises and sad eyes? What about how I watch him hit her and hurt her and then tell her that he loves her? What about how she calls that love? But isn't love a distraction? Isn't the feeling of butterflies and giddiness; isn't that a distraction. Of course not for her, but for me, of course it is!

No boys, no dates, no kissing, no feeling, no happiness involving the male species! Listen, listen, obey, I do. No boys, no dates, oh yes let them chase! "You're a pretty girl," my grandmother once told me. Her kind words every day in the hospital as I sat by her bed to watch her fragile hands hold mine. To let her sweet smile give me joy. To open my heart to her last wishes. "A pretty bride you'll be," she murmured. Ha! I laughed in her face. Pretty? Pretty was not even part of the dictionary of adjectives to describe me. Crazy maybe but definitely not pretty. But crazy over what, Amy? Why?! Why are you insane? Why are you so ready to combust? "Why won't you let yourself go?"

His words. His words that haunt my brain. His words that are always so blunt. But I like that bluntness. I like that devious smirk that he does when he's about to make a smart comment, those mischievous green eyes that crinkle when he laughs, that curly blue hair that I run my fingers through just to feel the silky texture, that soul – that free, beautiful soul.

"Watch it nerd." That's what he said to me. Every day, in the hallway as I barely navigated my way to class, as he bumped right into me. Accident the first time, probably but more than likely on purpose from then on. But, that became the norm. Our own little personal routine. Yell at me, yell at him, argument, "Let's go out sometime", "In your dreams." Fascinated and annoyed with that boy. But why, oh why did it have to be _that_ boy? The one who would soon be the one with the dangerous motorcycle, the totally _Grease _inspired leather jacket, and the forehead sticker that read "Heartbreaker." Why did my stomach have to twist and turn as he walked up to me that Saturday night with a bouquet of roses in his hand and a refusal to leave until I agreed to go out with him. Why did my stupid mouth agree to that stupid outing? Why did my lips respond to his when he kissed me softly in the fall rain? Why did my heart fall into his hands? Why when disaster wasn't too far ahead of us?

"No boys," she said, "No distractions." "But mom, he is a beautiful distraction! A good distraction!" One that I need. The butterflies, the giddy feeling, the safe, loved feeling I had when I was wrapped in his arms on all of those amazing days. The attentive kisses, the midnight-sneak outs, the adrenaline of falling in love. Love? What the heck was love? Do I even know what love is? Watching her get knocked around, that sure wasn't love. So what is it? Is it this crazy adrenaline rush I got whenever he smiles at me? The intense fear of losing him whenever we talk about his admiration of joining the army? The wonderful bliss of being under the care of his affection? Of course! Of course! How stupid to even question that? Love is not a lie – or at least it doesn't have to be. It can be true, genuine, real – it can be with him.

So free, so alive, so happy. Yes, so, so happy. But for how long? How long would such a stupid, feeble, teenage love last? How long would this seemingly never-ending bliss stop? I would ask myself. Three years rather than three months, is the answer I received. Three blissful years of him, of happiness, of a safe haven from my never-ending nightmare. But crash and burn. Oh, crash and burn we went. From college to secrets to what are we even doing anymore? Crash and burn we go. Another heartbreak, another sadness, another crushing feeling in the center of my chest. Just as it was on that sunny Saturday morning as I held my father's dog tag. Sitting on the front porch, staring out to the open road and wonder why. Why? Why? Why?

Why do I have to be perfect? Why do I have to do everything right? Why am I never good enough? What does everyone want from me? Good grades? Good body? Perfect personality? I can't! I can't be what everyone wants me to be! So why try any longer? Why try when I always fail? Go. Go away knocking. Alone. I want to be alone. Oh great, open the door why don't you. No. No, go away. I don't want to see your face ever again. I don't care what you have to say. I just want you to go away. I just want her to go away. I just want this feeling to go away. I just want it all to go away.

**Review if you wish...**


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